three, two, one
by tinted lens
Summary: It's almost unreal if it isn't so scary, that she can run away so easily, pretend it doesn't exist. Just like that. / Ponzu-centric, AU. Pokkle


**lol weirdness. warnings for mental instability and ooc-ness.**

consider _hxh_ disclaimed.

**.**

_and the greatest escape  
that you ever did make  
with your arms by your side,  
left it up to fate_

_and the coast that you've seen  
though you're watching them weakly  
you've cursed all perfect days _

_as you walked away_**.**

_-__rilo kiley._

There is something about normalcy.

The way it drips and falls and contaminates(_how she loves that word— c-o-n-t-a-m-i-n-a-t-e_), how it finds its way, seeping through cracks and crevices, gaps within your defenses until it reaches your systems, corrupting every single part and every single organ and every single thought process; ever so subtly and ever so patiently, until it is intangible, the edges in which it meets, melts into your skin, blurs to the point of indistinguishable; just another inseparable piece of a breathing mess, pillars threathening to collapse at any given moment.

(_normalcy, the poison that haunts many_)

And it is this poison, _n-o-r-m-a-l-c-y _that keeps Ponzu alive, awake, functioning. Abnormality (_what an a-w-f-u-l word, don't you think?_)— or worse, _s-u-b-n-o-r-m-a-l-i-t-y _[!] scares her, to tell the truth (_though she won't_, _isn't that what secrets are_?), the idea of an unfamiliar and uncontrollable variable disrupting the static, constant flow of her routine, distorting it into something entirely different. It goes on repeat in her head: [mistakes & failure & rejection & risks].

(_it's all so terrifiying and new and she doesn't know how to—_)

But she's willing to settle.

(_just occasionally, though_.)

**.**

It's a habit of hers.

To fall and catch herself just in the right moment, sparing enough time to build her defenses up again in the increasingly often moments in which it (_she_) falls apart like a house of cards: fragile and crippled and weak. And Ponzu hates being weak, more than anything in the world; because being _w-e-a-k_ involves leaving your guard down, increasing vulnerability to attacks she is aware are strong enough to topple her, never going back up again.

And emotions are no exceptions.

Emotions are so fickle, too easy to fake, she later learns. Convincingly stretching to force a smile upon her face has become a regular feat for her, daily practices in front of the mirror quickly finding itself a spot in her daily activities.

(_she saves her smiles, the best ones, for the ones who matter._)

And she never lets herself feel anything more than is necessary; never allows herself to be caught up in the tangled webs of her long-repressed emotions, not the way everyone else seems to do (_is it a trend_? _i've never seen kurapika cry so much over something that isn't her f-a-u-l-t—_). It is simply much too risky, much too inconvenient for her; and Ponzu is practical, calculating— emotions are not.

She doesn't do _childish_.

(_but m-i-s-t-a-k-e-s happen_.)

**.**

(_class, i'd like you to name the emotion you are feeling._)

"—indifference." she opts to say.

She'd say something along the lines of "uninterested" or "dying", but she knows it probably won't blow over well. Some degree of normalcy must be maintained, after all, and she thinks she'd already crossed the line when she even considered the other options; yes, "indifference" is clearly the word.

The teacher stares blankly at her. She is quite pleased at her reaction; as if it's surprising, yet expected of someone like her.

(_did he notice my hesitation?  
i hope he did._)

A smile crosses his lips, just barely. He walks over to the next table, shoes _tap-tap-tapping _against the polished floor.

She looks away, tries not to pay attention to him. Disconnect.

**.**

(_the lilies are fresh today.  
alluka must've watered it this morning;  
she's such a sweet little girl._

_why can't i be like her?  
why can't i be—_

_oh! if only she would just go a-w-a-y!_

_the clouds are always here,  
it's been so cloudy lately.  
i guess i like it better than the sun._

_i wonder if it'll rain, soon?  
maybe i should bring an umbrella._

_tomorrow. yeah, definitely tomorrow._)

**.**

She keeps a diary by her bedside.

It's filled with secrets, everybody's secrets they so desperately wanted to keep. But Ponzu was there when it happened; she always was.

(_shh—  
i won't tell.  
promise!_)

The pages are already half-filled; written in red ink and tiny hearts for dots, stories about infidelities and betrayal and lies lies lies, little thoughts nobody would expect to be kept inside the yellowing pages.

Just as a reminder of what, exactly, she is missing.

(_she hates them all, truthfully.  
hates hates hates them for having everything,  
for being so impulsive and free and—  
for being so stupid._)

She bites her lip. Tastes blood on the tip of her tongue, the bitter undertones filling her mouth, mixing together with sweet honey.

Ponzu is a liar, too. But nobody has to know that.

**.**

(_secret #246:_

_i  
don't  
think  
i  
can  
handle  
this_

_emotion_

_anymore_

_right  
now_

_**help**_)

**.**

(_she rips the page into thousands of tiny shreds and throws them outside the window.  
watches the pieces blow over the wind, its tips very nearly touching the stars._

_it's almost unreal if it isn't so  
scary._

_that she can run away so easily,  
pretend it doesn't exist._

_just like that__._)

**.**

"Sometimes…" her voice trails, fingertips holding onto the bottle. The syrup is long since gone, but she keeps letting herself believe that she's got more in the cabinet. "Sometimes, I feel like dying. Invisible. Like I'm not part of this— world."

(_you understand, don't you?_)

"It's only true if you make it true." he replies, cryptic. Typical. She chuckles.

They're sitting on her rooftop and their legs are dangling meters above certain death, the lines of streets below and skies above blurring out of focus. All she sees is _him_.

"Maybe you're right," she decides to humor him. She slides closer. Their knees touch, warmth invading her skin in an instant.

(_she wants to stay this way f-o-r-e-v-e-r and ever and ever  
and ever._)

A hint of redness crosses his face. She blames it on the cold, on the syrup. Anything else.

(his face is too close, _she realizes.  
but by then it's already too late._)

He closes the gap between them. She closes her eyes. His lips are cold from the night wind, tastes like ash and cherries. Her arms wrap around his neck, fingertips just brushing over his hair and he does the same, only it's a little warmer because that's just the kind of person he is. It feels too real, too good and too-everything all at once and she's never been this unstable before; she fears she is going to crack, snap again.

They pull away. Eyes staring at everything else but each other.

She bites her lip. No blood comes out; she just tastes more ash and cherries and honey and syrup, disjointed memories clouding her visions.

"I'm sorry," she mouths against his shoulder. "I can't."

She runs away.

(_because running away is the only justification i know._)

**.**

She forgets to take her medication.

The bright-colored pills are scattered all over the table. She kind of wants to drink them all at the same time, but Ponzu is not stupid. She knows what they do, what chemicals they are made of. She doesn't take risks.

But it's becoming hard for her to just, _get a grip_.

She looks down.

(_t-h-r-e-e-_

_t-w-o_

_o-n-e!_)

**.**

(_j-u-m-p-s._)

**.**

She never comes home the next day.

He searches.

**.**

(_beep-beep-beep._)

_where are you?_

_are you ok?_

**.**

He strokes her, pale and lifeless. She is alive, if only barely.

Her cheeks are so cold.

**.**


End file.
